Papa
by PianoPhreek118
Summary: After the death of his own father, young Miles Edgeworth is taken in by the legendary Manfred von Karma.  He grows up under von Karma's tutelage but can he find in his surrogate, a man he can call his father?  Court case/Original character
1. Chapter 1

"This is the dining hall. You will be eating all your meals in here, no exceptions."

Miles Edgeworth nodded his understanding. He took a quick glance at the man towering over him. He wore a long midnight blue tailcoat finished with gold buttons. Around his neck was tied an impressive white cravat. According to his father, that man was arguably the best prosecutor in the world. A ruthless man, he maintained had maintained a long string of perfect wins throughout his twenty-five years in courtrooms across the globe. Never had he lost a single case. He was the legendary Manfred von Karma.

In contrast, Miles' father was the opposite of this man leading him through the great mansion. His father, Gregory Edgeworth, was perhaps, the most legendary of all the men the young boy knew. A well-known defense attorney, Gregory Edgeworth did not boast an undefeated court record, but he did carry a heart that was overflowing with compassion and faith. That was the same heart that was ripped through by a bullet two years ago. Miles Edgeworth didn't have any memories of that horrific moment, but whenever he fell asleep, well, could dreams be a reflection of reality?

"Are you listening to me boy?" growled of the man standing above him.

"Ah, oh, sorry, sir," the child apologized meekly, his eyes pointed at the floor. He felt small in this enormous house, and positively miniscule next to this intimidating man.

"Pay attention! Now, if you will be so kind, I shall continue. This is the east upper corridor. There are four bedrooms here; all of them are reserved to receive guests that choose to stay overnight. If you are to be in this area, you are to stay quiet due to…"

Manfred von Karma's deep voice drifted off once more as the little boy started to look around the hallway. Like the rest of the house, the long corridor was extraordinary. Polished mahogany floor boards shone underneath brilliantly colored Oriental rugs. The walls were paneled with dark grained wood and hung with large, extravagant tapestries bearing the von Karma family crest. The ceiling was set high above his head, so tall it seemed as if it was the sky instead that hovered above. The smooth surface was painted a rich gold, split into a grid with long stretches of hand-carved trim, and every several meters hung a small chandelier of exquisite metalwork.

Miles Edgeworth felt out of his skin here in Germany. The lavishness of the estate was unsettling for he was not used to such opulence. His home was in America, but perhaps, it was his home no longer. After all, that horrific accident, the accident that killed his beloved father, it destroyed everything. Though it had been two years ago, it was still fresh in his mind as if it had happened just yesterday. It left Miles alone in the world, alone with the weight of the trauma, heavily bearing down onto his shoulders. The memories haunted him relentlessly. The aftermath of Gregory Edgeworth's death left his son with no family; Miles was bounced from orphanage to foster family, then another, and another. Then, like conjured out of thin air, appeared this man, this legend, Manfred von Karma, who offered to take the lonely boy into his home, a home halfway around the globe, but a home nonetheless.

"If you are to stay here, you are to listen to me! Do not let your mind wander off to other things while I am speaking!" Manfred von Karma's voice sharply pervaded back into Miles' head. Each of his words were tinged with venom and stung like daggers.

"Yes sir," the boy replied, his words barely audible. Though his head hung towards the floor, Miles could feel the prosecutor's stare burning at the back of his neck. The two remained tense and unmoving for several moments, and then, they started walking again.

The surroundings were so foreign to the boy, but so fascinating. He could not help but to notice the luxury, but at the same time, it overwhelmed him. The house was composed of a criss-cross of long corridors which opened to dozens upon dozens of rooms. Staircases winded up and down four floors of hallways and rooms. Each chamber was carefully decorated with utmost care and with impeccable attention to the tiniest of details. Even the corridors were finished to perfection; instead of a standard white wall and tile floor, the walkways were polished just as finely as every room in the mansion was, and absolutely dripping with the most expensive of design tastes. And despite the enormous size of the house, everything was immaculate. Not a cobweb in the corners, not a speck of dust on the furniture, not a fingerprint on the door handles.

More astounding still was that Miles had only seen the house. In fact, not only did Manfred von Karma own a mansion, he also looked over an entire estate of hundreds of acres filled with gardens, ponds, orchards, even a stable housing the finest horses one could find in the enture country.

"This is the library," the prosecutor declared as they reached a set of large carved wooden doors that gleamed with a great luster. "There is a great assortment of books here and I expect that you shall be studious and use them to your advantage. Your lessons are also to be held here, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Standing tall above him, von Karma turned the polished brass handle of the door. With effort, he pushed the heavy portal open.

Miles was immediately awed. The enormous library contained shelves upon shelves of books stretched from the crimson carpeted floors to the tall cathedral ceiling above. Ornate stained glass windows arched across one wall casting various shades of rich crimsons and ambers. On the opposite wall was a fireplace trimmed with planks of beautiful timber. A mantelpiece stained a deep chocolate brown ran across the length of its top and on it sat cream-colored candles of varying heights, each supported by an elegant holder of pure gold. In the middle of the room was a large square table, intricate designs of interlocking vines carved into its wooden legs. Four chairs surrounded the table, and in one of them sat a little girl.

The prosecutor led Miles over to where the girl was sitting. "This is my daughter, Franziska von Karma," he announced with pride. The child, of perhaps four years, was dressed silk blue dress trimmed heavily with lace. A large jeweled broach shimmered on her high collar. She wore her ice blue hair short; it was cut perfectly straight, hanging just below her ears. She acknowledged her father with a small nod, then turned and took a long piercing stare at the strange new boy with two cold blue eyes.

"Miles Edgeworth," the girl muttered.

"Uh, it's a pleasure to meet you Franziska," Miles mumbled. Awkwardly, he stuck out his right hand in front of her, anticipating a friendly handshake.

Instead, the girl batted it away fiercely with her own hand. Her eyes narrowed, her stare boring even deeper. "My name is Franziska von Karma, and I am the daughter of the great Manfred von Karma." She pronounced every syllable distinct and perfect; each word echoed in the chamber. "You are a fool from America, and I shall not shake hands with such a fool." With this, she stood up from the chair and pushed it back under the table. With her chin held high, she marched towards the door.

"Franziska," rung the voice of the older von Karma, quiet yet stern.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Miles Edgeworth is not a guest. He is to live here with us. Might I suggest that you think of him as a sibling?"

Something in the girl's eyes flashed and the corners of her turned up in the trace of a smirk. She turned towards Miles and declared, "Of course _little brother_."

As she turned and walked out of the library doors, Miles could feel a tremble ripple down his spine. The little girl, barely out of toddlerhood was seven years his junior but just like with her father, he felt strangely intimidated by Franziska von Karma.


	2. Chapter 2

_The pistol flew out of the boy's hand and cut through the air spinning end over end. A deafeaning BANG rang out and echoed across the cold metal walls of the tiny enclosure until finally, the last remaining vibrations faded away. The young Edgeworth slowly opened his eyes and squinted through the near pitch darkness. There in front of him, to his horror was his beloved father, slumped limply against the handrail of the elevator, glasses askew, scarlet blood seeping through his white shirt from the fatal bullet wound. _

"DAD!" screamed Miles as he jolted awake. Beads of sweat covered his forehead as his pale hands gripped the thick sheets tightly. Though the bed was warm, the boy trembled uncontrollably, his muscles stiff from the paralysis that was just beginning to dissipate. The dream reeled though his head once more, like it did every night. Only this time, he was in a new foreign place. The room was enormous but poorly lit for the four towering windows were covered with heavy pleated curtains that shut out the gentle moonlight outside. Miles' bed was more than triple the size than he had at home, covered with expensive silks and muslin but the sheer vast emptiness was unsettling. His surroundings made the dream the more terrifying and he could feel the heavy weight of guilt upon his shoulders more than he ever could before.

"I demand to know what the purpose of your noise is!" came the deep grumbling voice as the door was roughly pushed open and the light from the corridor came spilling into the bedroom. Miles shielded his eyes from the harsh light but could make out the tall shadow of Manfred von Karma, his new surrogate father.

"I'm sorry sir. I had a nightmare," the boy meekly explained, finally releasing his fingers from their death hold on the blankets.

The man walked into the room until he came to the foot of Miles's wide bed. His icy stare bored down and he spoke in a shivering whisper, "I don't care how many bad dreams you have boy. You will not disturb anyone else in this household with your nighttime ramblings. And as long as you live under my roof, I will not hear of this "Dad" of yours anymore, am I clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now back to bed with you."

Von Karma closed the door as he exited, shutting out the light from the bedroom and leaving Miles in the dark emptiness once more.

With his stomach filled from a simple breakfast of fresh strawberries over sweetened oatmeal, Miles exited the dining hall and wandered the sprawling hallways to find the library where his lessons were to begin. He had no idea as to what he would be learning, but knew that they would take the place of school.

The boy finally found the wooded double doors of the library and pushed them open. He expected to find a warm kindly governess prepared to teach him languages, history, and mathematics.

Instead, he was looking into the cold blue eyes of Franziska von Karma.

"Good morning little brother," the girl smirked, enjoying the demeaning term she gave her new foster brother. She was sitting at the square table where she had been the day before. Her polished shoes dangled more than a foot above the ground but on the table next to her was a stack of much more grown-up textbooks.

"Good morning Franziska," came the reply.

The two stared at each other as an icy silence hung between them which was suddenly penetrated by the sound of heavy footsteps. Manfred von Karma stood close behind Miles Edgeworth.

"I would appreciate it if you would close the doors after you enter," said the deep whisper. He turned around and pushed the heavy doors closed. "Mr. Edgeworth, please take a seat, next to Franziska if you will."

Miles scurried over to the square table and sat in the wooded chair closest to the girl. The stack of books on the table, all with labels like, "The Art of Conviction", "Legal Procedures", and "Evidence Law", seemed to be taller now that he was so close to it. Some of the titles seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn't make sense out of them. What exactly did "Standard Protocol of the Examination of Witnesses" mean?

Von Karma took a seat at the square table also, then moved the stack of books to the corner of the table to see Miles properly. The boy was absentmindedly scratching the inside of his wrist with the tips of his fingernails.

"No!" shouted von Karma. He slapped the boy's wrist then grabbed both his hands, folding them neatly in his lap. "You must be dignified," the prosecutor growled. "I suppose we will have to review the rules of my home with you?"

"I suppose so," Miles replied softly.

"Very well then, but an unfortunate waste of time," von Karma said softly. His voice grew sonorous and echoed through the huge chamber as he began to recite.

"You must stay dignified at all times to keep the reputation of the von Karma family name. Proper posture is expected and absolutely no fidgeting. You must be punctual to all meals, all lessons and be in your own bed chamber by no later than ten o' clock. Be silent except when it is necessary that you speak, especially in the later hours of the night for others would rather not be disturbed…"-here he glared at Miles with his icy frozen glare-"_"_Avoid communication with the lowly people who work at this estate. Their dirty hands are here for the sole purpose of serving the von Karma creed and you are not to disrupt their work with your mindless chatter. Address all respectable people with 'sir', 'ma'am', or 'miss', but if they are not worth your attention, disregard anything they attempt to tell you for you do not have time to dwell on needless comments from inferiors. In the times you do not have meals or lessons…."

Von Karma's voice droned for several more minutes, reciting the rules of his house in a practiced but florid rant. Finally, it ended with, "Did you understand all of that, boy?"

Miles nodded, though in reality, he had only absorbed a portion of the long list of protocol.

"Good," the older man said gruffly. "Now that I am through with that, today, your lessons begin."

"What lessons?" Miles blurted, thoroughly confused. There was no governess in sight.

i"Sir."/i said von Karma, glaring at the boy across the table.

"What lessons sir?"

"I will be teaching you-"

"i_You?/i_" the boy interrupted.

"Yes," the man snarled, irked by the sudden outburst. "Now if would kindly allow me to finish. iI/i will be teaching you to be a prosecutor."

"A prosecutor?" Miles exclaimed. "But prosecutors are the lawyers who put innocent people in jail! They fight lawyers like my Dad! I don't want to be a prosecutor, I want to be a defence attorney just like my Dad!"

"Silence!" von Karma shouted, pounding his fist onto the table. He continued in a deathly whisper, "Your father is dead. You are under the von Karma household now and since you are now my son, you will uphold the family tradition by joining a line of perfect prosecutors."

Miles was not prepared to give up. "But my Dad told me some prosecutors use dirty tactics to reach a guilty verdict at any cost! I want to chose the right path and defend those too weak to defend themselves!"

Von Karma kept a stern face; he seemed unfazed by the boy's piercing words. His face suddenly softened and he reached across the corner of the table to carefully run his long fingers through the boy's hair. The sharp growl of his voice turned soft and gentle, "Your father was murdered dear boy. Would you want to see his killer go free?"

"Uh, no, I-I guess not," the boy mumbled. Trying to divert his mind from the memory, he became engrossed in an invisible speck of dirt lodged under his fingernail.

"Follow the von Karma path," the man continued silkily, pushing the boy under the chin so his eyes would face him. "I can show you how to become a great prosecutor. Then perhaps, you can bring justice to the man who killed your father."

Miles was silent for a while as he contemplated von Karma's words.

"Is your answer yes?"

"My dad loved defending people. I don't think he would want-"

"I don't think your father would have wanted his murderer to go free either."

"Um, I guess."

"Criminals are wretched people," the prosecutor crooned, "They will try to use whatever means necessary to escape the law. We don't want that do we?" A slight smirk crossed his face; he could feel the familiar sensation of yet another impending victory.

"Dad," Miles mumbled under his breath. His mind was racing at a hundred miles per hour: the dream, the flying pistol, the horrific shot, the bloody body in the elevator, and despite that, the old man still walked away without the guilty burden on his shoulders.

"So, will you join the line of the great von Karmas?"

This time, it did not take the boy long to answer.

"Yes."

_Author's Notes: Hi everyone, I hope you are enjoying the story so far! As always, please read and review. Also, I've been noticing a lot of author's notes have been written in bold at the beginning of the story. I'm assuming this is a feature of the site but I haven't been able to figure out how to do that yet. So if you know how, please let me know! Then I can get rid of the makeshift, trying-to-be-an-author's-notes ones, haha. _


	3. Chapter 3

Miles jolted awake, beads of sweat seeping across his hairline, his pale hands trembling as he gripped the heavy sheets. He had seen that horrible dream again; he had once again revisited that terrible nightmare. But the boy knew better than to scream out this time, lest his new "father" burst in to reprimand him. He put his head on his pillow in curled up into a tight ball under his sheets, trying to distance himself from the demons. But try as he could, Miles could not fall back asleep, haunted until the first cracks of dawn seeped through the heavy draperies and banished the night.

"Lift your head up," growled von Karma at lessons that morning. He rapped his gold pen under Miles' chin and immediately, the boy raised his head. He bit the edge his lip to keep from sighing, which he knew von Karma hated. He had stayed just two shorts days in the von Karma mansion and already, he knew he would never fulfill the family's creed of perfection. After all, he ate too fast, his footsteps were too heavy, his fingernails were dirty, he swung his arms as he walked, his hair was messy, and he was too dense to learn the complicated lessons. Miles struggled to comprehend to difficult legal terms and could never seem to piece together how each policy worked. On the other hand, five-year old Franziska seemed to learn with ease, absorbing and retaining every one of her father's words like a sponge.

The boy glanced over at his "sister" sitting across from him at the table who was practicing writing her neat, cursive letters with a thin calligraphy pen. Her scroll was smooth with decorative loops and hooks, but absolutely legible. It was more beautiful than his own clumsy scrawl could ever be. Disheartened, Miles turned his attention back to "Evidence Law", opened to Chapter Five, Section Seven.

Suddenly, there was a subtle vibration through the solid square table. Miles' eyes darted forward and he instinctively gripped the thick legs of his chair. The tremors grew stronger and a soft rattling echoed throughout the library as the thousands of books surrounding the walls shook in their shelves.

It was an earthquake. A frequent occurrence back in California.

But this time, Miles reacted as if he had never experienced one before. A paralyzing stiffness gripped his entire body and yet, his heart raced with heavy thumps. His face blanched and a cold wave rippled from his chest to the tips of his fingers. As the seismic tremors continued to rock the mansion, images of his last earthquake reeled through his head.

_He was in the small elevator, holding his father's hand. The defense attorney was sullen and quiet having just lost a case to a notoriously ruthless prosecutor. Across from him was the short, scrawny bailiff who was holding on the bar that ran across the elevator's perimeter. Miles glanced at the lighted display above the metal door. 5…4….3….just two more floors to go…_

_And then the tremors began. They started small, but grew more intense. Miles could feel his father's long fingers curl tightly around his as he led them both in front of the door. The bailiff set his eyes on the door as well, his face a pasty white, as if he had just fallen into a bowl of flour. They were no longer vibrations; a heavy rumbling filled the elevator as the small box jumped and fell violently._

_Suddenly with a deafening thump, the world went pitch black. The shaking stopped._

_Miles sat for hours in the tiny dark box. He could still feel his father's hand around his. The attorney spoke to his son gently, telling him every story he could think of. The two had long forgotten about the lonely bailiff who was trapped with them. But even as Miles listened, engrossed in the fantastic tales, there was no doubt the air in the darkness had changed. He panted as he struggled to grab a full lungful of oxygen. His mind drifted away from his father's voice; his memory went dark for moments._

_And then he could hear the labored breath of the bailiff coming closer as he closed around his father. It was only then that Miles could feel their hands separate. Low screams and a violent argument, the boy tried to find reach his father in the darkness when his hand grazed a cold object on the ground. He picked it up as the dispute escalated._

_BANG._

Miles heart pounded, his entire body trembled with each shake. His mind went blank; he forgot where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. All that was in his mind was the horrendous memory, replaying continuously in vivid detail. And trying to escape his ghosts, he ran. He leaped out of his chair, letting it topple behind him, bolted out of the library, through the long winding corridors, and finally out the back doors. He blindly felt his way behind the shrubbery framing the vast estate, fell to his knees and curled up in a fetal position, kneeling behind two manicured green bushes. He gasped for air as he sobbed, the salty tears masking his face. His knees buckled. The boy fell off his feet and weakly rolled on his heaving side, letting his cheek settle into the ground. He could taste the rough grit of the earthy soil on his tongue.

"No need to be afraid, that wasn't a big one."

Miles ran the back of a dirty hand across his eyes and looked up. Through the sheet of moisture, he could see a young man, no older than twenty, with hair the color of golden straw and darkened skin from working under the sun all day. The man's limbs were long and bulged slightly with muscle. He wore a stained grey t-shirt and a pair of tattered denim shorts that had an assortment of small shovels and hoes protruding from the wide pockets.

The tanned man offered a hand to Miles and pulled the boy up to his feet. As soon as Miles had balanced himself firmly back on his heels, the man took the boy's thin hand his own muscled and rough fingers. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said formally, shaking hands, "I'm Hoban, the garden boy."

"Oh, um, I'm Miles Edgeworth. Um, I'm Manfred von Karma's new protégé," the boy responded. He suddenly broke the handshake and backed away slightly, remembering von Karma's rule about servants.

_i"Avoid communication with the lowly people who work at this estate. Their dirty hands are here for the sole purpose of serving the von Karma creed and you are not to disrupt their work with your mindless chatter,"/i _he had said with disdain.

"Yes, I've heard of Mr. von Karma's promising new talent. Delighted to meet you, Mr. Edgeworth, sir."

Miles just nodded. He was still keeping a far distance from the servant and tried to distract himself by fiddling with his thumbs. But, he couldn't help but to notice the sweet honey voice, the wide, genuine grin, and the soothing quality about the very man. The gardener's very presence helped the terror from his haunting recollection pass.

Hoban chuckled a little. "A little quiet are we? I suppose you would be living in _that_ house," he said. He took a moment to look the boy up and down, who was covered with dirt and moisture. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen; his cheeks still bore the streaks of where his tears had fell. "So what brings you out here?" he inquired.

"Oh, nothing," the boy answered, still playing with his thumbs. He paused but knew that the gardener could see right through his transparent fib. "The earthquake, I guess," he admitted.

"Unexpected, wasn't it? We don't get many here in Germany. But if I'm not mistaken, you're used to them in America, aren't you?"

"Yes, I guess so," Miles whispered. He looked down at the ground, trying to avoid the garden boy's hazel gaze.

"Well whatever scared you, it doesn't matter," Hoban said, waving away the comment dismissively. Then he took a few steps and put his face close to the boy's ear. His voice dropped to a low whisper, "But I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. von Karma was the thing that frightened you."

The boy smiled. It was the first time he had smiled since he had arrived at the estate.

"Let's go inside and get you cleaned up, shall we?" Hoban said, stepping away. He walked across the cobble stone porch and opened the ornate wooden door to the back of the house. He waved an open palm towards the inside. "Right this way, Mr. Edgeworth."

The boy walked across the porch towards the house. Just as he set a foot inside the door, he turned back around and looked the gardener straight in the eye.

"I'm kind of getting sick of the formalities. Please, just call me Miles."


End file.
